Never Fall for your Fiancée, page 20
Merriwell!
What a disaster!
Directly in front, both Diana and Vee also stiffened, but there was something about the way her baby sister’s body immediately shrank in the seat that suggested she knew how this new, terrifying state of affairs had come to pass.
“This is the first time of asking.” The vicar’s voice was like the clanging chimes of doom. “If any of you know cause of just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it now.”
Both the Reverend Cranham and Hugh’s mother smiled as the long silence stretched, so intense, not a soul seemed to breathe. All Minerva could hear was the rapid beating of her own heart in panic. She didn’t need to hear Hugh’s to know he was feeling exactly the same. They were gripping one another’s fingers now for grim death.
After what seemed like forever, the reverend finally spoke. “Then as there are no objections, let us commence our Advent celebrations with an uplifting carol which also fittingly celebrates an arrival and a joyous new beginning. Hymn one hundred and sixty-six— ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ . . .”
Chapter Nineteen
“I cannot believe she arranged for the blasted banns to be read!” Hugh was in danger of wearing a groove in the parquet as he paced angrily in the portrait gallery that evening. “Behind my back! Behind your back! When we have both expressly told her there will be no blasted wedding until Saint Valentine’s Day!”
His mother had seemed to take the postponement well, had even agreed it would be the perfect date for the wedding if they couldn’t get Minerva’s fake family from the Cairngorms to Hampshire by Christmas. But as usual, his mother was a law unto herself, paying her customary lip service to his desires while plotting her own agenda behind his back.
Hearing his name read in church, unexpectedly announcing his impending nuptials, had made him feel peculiar. Not queasy exactly, which still surprised him, but he’d had to hold Minerva’s hand very tightly for the ground to steady, then keep holding it throughout the service in case he panicked some more. There was a finality about the banns and a stark reality he had never wanted to experience, like a death knell to all he held sacred banging in the distance. The suddenly foreboding sound of Giles’s voice echoing in his mind like a prophecy. They have to be read three times before they’re official.
One down.
Two to go.
But his bloody interfering mother had started the process, and unless his friend came back soon to steal his fiancée away, things would be even more official next Sunday than they were today.
“And they used my real name.” Minerva was slumped on the marble bench, looking miserable. “Poor Vee is beside herself with remorse.”
In her desire to have the deed done without his knowledge, his mother had caught the youngest Merriwell off guard in the library and prized the middle names of all three of the sisters out of her. The glaring inclusion of “Merriwell” had, according to Minerva, leaked out toward the end of the interrogation due to nerves. The mistake had, she had been assured, been quickly covered up as a traditional ancestral family name that all three of the sisters had been baptized with. He had to give Vee credit for coming up with something so plausible in a crisis— but the fact that Vee had waited until it had been said aloud in church before admitting to her mistake bothered Hugh immensely.
“Now your mother can trace my lackluster lineage, and she’ll discover I’ve never been to Chipping Norton. I’ve never even set foot in Oxfordshire. I am a big fat fraud who never should have agreed to do this.”
“If my mother had the slightest inkling there was anything incendiary in the name ‘Merriwell’ or had any doubt about Vee’s explanation, she would have started her digging yesterday. Instead, she hasn’t so much as mentioned it— and that is because she is too busy feeling smug at having the banns read when I least expected it. Remember— her only mission is to send me to the altar, and today’s machinations have sent me several steps closer to it than I was yesterday.” Minerva looked so wretched, Hugh had the devil of a job resisting the overpowering urge to envelop her in an embrace, and settled for patting her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Put the accidental slip of your surname into a little box marked ‘revisit if required’ and then store it away. I daresay it will never come up again.”
“How can you be so blasé? Yesterday that mad Lucretia let slip she was an actress and it took some hasty explaining, a swift extraction, and some very humiliating singing to distract your mother. Today, Vee inadvertently revealed another secret. At this rate, your mother will soon know everything. We are living in a house of cards, Hugh— and the wind is blowing. It is only a matter of time before your mother puts all the pieces together and our flimsy house tumbles around our ears.”
“Well, she hasn’t put them together yet.”
“But what if Vee slips up again? Or Lucretia? Or Diana?” She pointed to the pair of them. “Or either of us? And what if Giles isn’t able to get back soon? Do you seriously think we can maintain this charade for another week, let alone two?”
Of course he didn’t. Any more than he would be able to keep his hands off her for that long. “We have managed it so far.” But he could see his false optimism wasn’t helping. She’d had a pinched look on her features all day. She looked tired and worried and at her wits’ end.
This was harder for her than it was for him, and that truth shamed him. All Hugh had to do was pretend to be himself, keep a close eye on his mother, and herd her in a different direction if necessary. Minerva had to remember the complicated story of their courtship and her illness, and behave like a lady of the gentry. All while keeping her sisters in line, being the consummate diplomat, and forever thinking on her feet.
Feeling incredibly selfish, and phenomenally grateful for her persistent and selfless diligence, he raked a hand through his hair and sat next to her, then against his better judgment, wrapped his arm around her shoulders. As he expected, the contact was pure torture. “It will be all right, Minerva. . . . Whatever happens, you will have tried your best.”
Instinctively, she rested her head against his, and he tried not to think of how lovely that felt. He had missed this. Missed it being just her and him. Fate and, more importantly, his mother, meant this stolen, midnight meeting was the first time they had been properly alone since yesterday. Yet so much had happened in the intervening hours, there was so much still waiting to be said. He hadn’t broached the subject of the Romeo who had broken her heart. He hadn’t slept a wink last night obsessing about that little love affair, and he wouldn’t sleep tonight unless he did.
“I don’t want to let you down, Hugh. You’ve been very kind to all of us.”
“And you have been wonderful— I am still in awe of how you and your sisters were able to move Lucretia from the drawing room last night at lightning speed when I could barely budge her.”
“The secret is to lift them slightly off the ground . . .” She shrugged, dismissive. “We have extensive experience of removing a drunk from the premises when they are no longer welcome.” Yet another aspect of her life he didn’t want to have to picture. “It was no bother.”
“You take too much on yourself.” And that needed to change. “But as grateful as I am for your interference, I recognize I have been remiss in relying on you too much these past few days when you have quite enough on your plate already.” He kissed the top of her head. He couldn’t help it. Minerva needed looking after. “Too many people— myself included— constantly take advantage of your good nature.”
“You are not taking advantage, Hugh. Nor is anyone else.”
He cuddled her closer and took her hand, the contact suddenly as necessary as breathing. “I have eyes, Minerva. The more I get to know you, the more I realize you pull yourself in every direction trying to be all things to all people. A mother to your sisters, a pretend fiancée to me, a gracious hostess, a good friend. Your intrinsic niceness is humbling . . .” It certainly made Hugh want to be a better man around her. “There is no need for you to run yourself ragged or worry yourself sick in the process. What will be will be . . . and I will be with you all the way.”
“Except when I have to take tea with the Standish Ladies’ Society tomorrow, or be measured by Madame Devy . . .” His mother was making a flurry of plans for Minerva that excluded him. More weight on her already-overburdened shoulders. “And then there’s the local assembly she has committed us to attending. Where I shall be expected to dance— when I cannot— and everyone, including your mother, will know I am a fraud.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. I can teach you to dance.”
“Nobody can teach me to dance, Hugh, because I cannot hear the music like everyone else hears it— remember? Dancing requires a level of balance, coordination, and rhythm I simply do not possess. Look what happened when you tried to teach me to ride a horse.”
He had forgotten all those things. The broomstick arms. The lack of empathy with the horse’s movements. The wobbling. “Perhaps you could suffer another injury which precludes you from dancing?”
“Your mother is dubious of my torn shoulder as it is. She offered to have the physician look at it this afternoon . . . to see if I am fit to ride again, because it appears quite fixed. I’ve been attempting to wince each time I lift a teacup in the hope she will believe me. She will call him for sure if I feign a sprained ankle, and I am bound to forget I am supposed to have it at a crucial moment and start limping on the wrong foot. Or worse— not limp at all.”
“And there I was, worrying about the inconsequential things— like our impending marriage.” He was trying to lighten the mood but instead managed to make her look more miserable— if that were indeed possible.
“I suppose I could own up to not being able to dance. After all, it would hardly come as a surprise when I am so musically incompetent— but then, of course, it would mean calling you a liar again. Because you wrote to her in great detail about our first magical waltz . . .”
“I could teach you to waltz.”
“Oh, don’t be daft, Hugh . . .”
“No— I’m serious. You could politely refuse to dance with anyone at the assembly except me. It would be seen as perfectly acceptable and understandable that you should want to have as many conversations with your new neighbors as possible instead of dancing. You are to be the new mistress of Standish, after all. Your sisters can dance every dance. I’ll have Payne and Lucretia teach them on the side. Then, the only dance people will expect you to dance will be with me and we will only dance the waltz. My mother will love the symbolism. It will look gloriously romantic.”
“It will look ridiculous, Hugh. I will look ridiculous. Singing badly for your mother to avoid imminent catastrophe is one thing, making a complete fool out of myself in front of a room full of strangers is quite another.”
“Will you at least allow me to try to teach you?” He stood, holding out his hands, and watched the charming furrow he always had the urge to kiss away appear between her dark brows.
“I cannot dance!”
“But this is the waltz. The waltz is entirely different to all the other dances because it relies on the gentleman leading! If it all goes wrong, it is me they will blame. All you will need to do is count to three and be able to hold on tight while I twirl you around. Come . . . I’ll show you.”
“Now? It’s late and I am not sure I have the patience yet. It’s been a particularly trying day. Perhaps tomorrow . . .”
“There is no time like the present and we have the place all to ourselves.” Which was probably a dangerous combination, but he couldn’t summon the enthusiasm to care. Not when he needed her to smile again to make him feel better.
“This is pointless.” Reluctantly, she allowed him to pull her up. “I take absolutely no responsibility for stepping on your toes. Expect them to be completely crushed.”
It would be worth it if he could send her to bed happier than she was now. “And I take absolutely no responsibility for you falling helplessly, head over heels in love with me as I twirl you around— because the waltz is the dance of love and seduction, my dear faux fiancée . . . and I am sinfully wonderful at it. So sinfully wonderful I’m surprised they haven’t made a law against it. Or me.”
“And so modest.” There was the smile he missed. The saucy glint in her lovely emerald eyes as he arranged her arms into the correct pose. Both warmed his heart. Nothing kept his Minerva down long. “Have you forgotten you are effectively paying me to dance with you?”
“There is that.” He slid his palm around her waist slowly, savoring the opportunity to hold her in his arms just once more. “Will flirting cost me extra?” The corners of her mouth began to curve upward. “Because to waltz truly well one has to flirt.”
“Most assuredly. In fact, I can tell you now it will be very expensive. I shall have enough on my mind concentrating on the steps while simultaneously being your Minerva. Therefore, additional chores, like flirting, come at a premium. It will be so expensive I doubt even you could afford it.”
He loved her like this. Funny and confident and bold. Unburdened. “I am a very rich man.”
“True . . . but as you rightly pointed out, I do have rather a lot on my plate, so I must decline for now. Should I need another thousand pounds, rest assured I shall let you know.”
“A thousand pounds? You put a great deal of stock in your capabilities at flirting.”
“No more than you put in your capabilities at waltzing, sir.” Standing in a perfect dance frame in his arms, staring along her nose at him in mock disdain, she let out a withering sigh. “Are we going to stand here like this all night? My arm is beginning to ache. I am not being paid to endure aching limbs either. They also come at a premium.”
“Very well, Mademoiselle Mercenary. Try to follow my lead. Whatever I do, you must mirror. It’s simple.” He attempted a few steps, all of which she got entirely wrong and most of which resulted in her stepping on his foot.
“I told you this was pointless!” The light in her eyes had dimmed again as she tried to tug her hand from his. “I am incapable of dancing.”
“It isn’t you— it is me. I am teaching you poorly. Let’s try it again. Mirror . . .” Then it occurred to him that likening the waltz to a mirror was the root of the problem and perhaps not the best instruction to a novice who lacked coordination— because each time Hugh stepped forward, so did she. He let go of her and demonstrated the steps again on his own, pointing at his feet. “Imagine together we are drawing a big box on the ground.” She might not understand dance, but she understood art. “I will start on the right foot.” Which was the foot she would need to begin with. “I step back on the right. I step to the side with my left. Then I bring my right foot together to stand beside the left.”
“That is a triangle, not a box.”
“Exactly right! Because it is only half of the dance. To complete the box, now I step forward on my right. To the side again on my left and . . .”
“Bring your right foot together with your left again to return to the point you started?” She drew a big square in the air with her finger.
“See— I told you it was simple. Shall we try it side by side?”
Without touching, they danced several tentative squares until Hugh was certain she understood the basics, while he simultaneously spoke the steps. “Back, side, together— forward, side, together— back, side, together— forward, side, together— one, two, three— one, two, three . . .” It took five minutes before she had it, but once she did, there was no stopping her.
“Squares . . . unbelievable.” Minerva suddenly beamed at him in wonder. “Look, Hugh! We are perfectly synchronized! Have you any idea what an achievement this is for me?”
“I am starting to understand.” And he felt proud to have found a way for the waltz to make sense and for encouraging her to smile again.
“What do we have to do next?”
“Nothing other than what you are doing. No matter what I do, simply concentrate on drawing your box on the floor. Ignore my feet.”
“I thought we were mirrors.”
“I’ve smashed the mirrors. The mirrors were a stupid idea and I am an idiot for thinking of them. Now you are drawing a perfect box with your feet and I’m going to draw the same box with you.”
“I really don’t understand . . .”
“And that is the beauty of it, my lovely Minerva, you really don’t need to.” He took her hand in his and placed the other at her waist. “You just need to trust me and allow me to carry you for a change rather than vice versa.” He held her closer than the dance required but nowhere close enough for him. “Draw your box, my darling. . . . Back, side, together— forward, side, together— one, two, three . . .” Miraculously, it worked and nobody seemed more stunned by it than Minerva.
“We’re dancing!”
“I know.”
“I haven’t stepped on your toes!”
“That I also know. My toes thank you.” She giggled and he felt ten feet tall.
“When do we start twirling?”
“Not until we’ve practiced an hour of this at least. Let’s not run before we can walk.”
“An hour? But, Hugh . . . it’s past midnight. Your mother has another packed day planned tomorrow and I don’t want to face her tired.” And he didn’t want to spoil the moment by making her fret.
“Let us do another few minutes tonight to cement it in your mind and more first thing in the morning when we are both refreshed. And perhaps tomorrow night, if you continue to show promise, we’ll commence the twirling.”
